


For Erections Lasting More Than Four Hours, Consult A Healer

by bluebeholder



Category: Dragon Age II
Genre: Comedy, Dick Jokes, Healer Anders (Dragon Age), Implied Anders/everybody, Minor Hawke/Isabela (Dragon Age), Minor past Anders/Isabela, No Smut, Other, as far as the eye can see, i admit this is slightly ooc
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-18
Updated: 2020-10-18
Packaged: 2021-03-08 23:42:31
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,101
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27085045
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bluebeholder/pseuds/bluebeholder
Summary: A quack doctor has appeared in Kirkwall. Tired of having to deal with patients who have problems of an intimate nature thanks to the doctor's scam medicine, Anders drags his friends along on a quest to stop this public health crisis.It's a long, hard day.
Comments: 6
Kudos: 20





	For Erections Lasting More Than Four Hours, Consult A Healer

**Author's Note:**

> There's no excuse here for anything, and I don't want to offer one anyway. :D
> 
> "Jorman's Apothecary" and the "Special Sauce" appear on a flyer you can find in the game. All of these innuendoes, oblique references, and weird terms come straight from history, as it were. [There are brilliant timelines of sex slang, created by linguist Jonathon Green, which are definitely worth a perusal](https://io9.gizmodo.com/three-timelines-of-slang-terms-for-having-sex-from-135-1608522982).

“Garrett Hawke, if you’re here for what I think you are,” Anders said, folding his arms and glaring at Hawke, “you better not be.”

Hawke looked sheepish.

“Andraste’s _knickers_!”

“Look,” Hawke said, sporting a thin version of his usual Archdemon-may-care grin, “I needed something, Isabela is insatiable—”

Isabela, perched on Anders’ desk, burst into another peal of laughter. “Don’t blame _me_ ,” she said. “ _You’re_ the one who—”

“I don’t want to hear about your sex life!” Anders said, waving his hands. “Hawke! Just show me the problem!”

Beet red in the face, Hawke let the cloak wrapped around him fall open.

Anders had to admit, it was an impressive erection.

“Can you fix it?” Hawke asked after a beat of silence.

“Yes,” Anders said, shaking himself. “Just—sit down, I’ll have you right as rain in a moment.”

Isabela giggled the entire time that Anders, as dispassionately as he could considering that a week ago he’d had an extensive dream involving the cock he was currently fixing, put Hawke to rights. Even _Justice_ was snickering at how funny it was to see sensible, level-headed Hawke brought low—well, _high_ —by quack medicine.

“Why did you not just come to _me_?” Anders asked, when Hawke was doing up his clothes again.

“You’re my _friend_ ,” Hawke said, still red, awkwardly scratching the back of his neck. “I thought it would be weird.”

Anders gestured at Isabela. “And who do you think provides your paramour’s birth control? I know you’re trying to be respectful, Hawke, but I don’t trust most doctors in Kirkwall. You shouldn’t either.”

“ _They_ can’t do magic,” Isabela chirped, hopping down from the desk and linking arms with Hawke. “Which makes you far superior, love.”

“Thank you,” Anders said. He bent down when Isabela tugged on the front of his coat, accepting the fond kiss on the cheek.

Halfway to the door, Hawke paused. “Hey—how did you know what I was here for?”

“I’ve had thirty other people in here today with the same problem,” Anders said. He rubbed his face wearily with both hands. “Men, women, elves, dwarves, the only people I haven’t had are—”

A knock on the door boomed through the empty clinic.

Hawke and Isabela had daggers in their hands in a split second, but Anders didn’t bother going for his staff. He strode to the door, wrenched it open, and announced, “The clinic is _closed_!”

The view in front of him was of a broad, muscular chest. Anders looked up to meet the gaze of a Qunari who, in contrast to the solemnity with which they usually carried themselves in Kirkwall, looked like he was about to burst into laughter.

“Good evening,” the Qunari said. He looked like he was fighting a grin.

“…can I help you?” Anders asked.

“Not me,” the Qunari said. A small chuckle escaped before he continued. “Rumor has it the Darktown Healer has a cure for priapism, yes?”

Behind him, Anders heard Hawke and Isabela burst into howls of laughter.

Only Qunari, Anders reflected as he and his friends followed the messenger through the dark streets of Kirkwall, would say “priapism” instead of “my cock hurts” or “wood won’t go away” or “fucked my way through a whole brothel and it won’t stop.”

It wasn’t the first time Anders had treated a Qunari. A few of them had shown up on the sly at the clinic, looking to get help with a minor injury they got doing something they weren’t supposed to. This was the first time he’d done a…house call for them.

They didn’t get an audience with the Arishok, of course, but Anders did have the privilege of meeting the Qunari physician. She didn’t speak an ounce of Trade, so the messenger translated. Still, between Anders’ magic and her knowledge of Qunari physiology (surprisingly quite different from that of a human), they got the five young idiots all sorted out.

“Can they at least tell you what they _did_?” Anders asked the messenger, glaring at the five recovering young men. They were twenty years old, at the most, and getting a most vicious scolding from the physician.

The messenger, who wasn’t any older than the others, shrugged. “They claim they purchased some kind of…sauce, to entertain themselves. They should not have done it, it is not right to have such relations unauthorized, but this would have been overlooked had they not had… _a hard time_.”

For a second, as Hawke stifled a snort of amusement, Anders wondered if that pun was intentional. Qunari weren’t exactly native speakers, after all, but still. One look at the smirking messenger said he knew exactly what he’d said.

In the streets outside the Qunari compound, a heavy purse of coin held in both hands, Anders looked at Hawke and Isabela. “Look,” he said, “if this was just one or two people, I wouldn’t be disturbed. But whoever’s selling this is causing real trouble.”

Isabela fumbled in her belt pouch. She pulled out a piece of crumpled paper and smoothed it with a flourish. “Hawke found one of these,” she said, passing it to Anders.

Anders scanned it. Incredibly stupid sexual references, a “Special Sauce,” infusions of a botany text’s worth of “natural” herbs, guarantees of safety and effectiveness, claims that it would make one more manly…this was exactly what he’d expected. “It’s a scam,” he said, tossing the flyer back to Isabela.

Hawke took the flyer and looked at it mournfully. “‘You will never feel the same again’… _right_.”

“I can’t just let this go,” Anders said, tucking the purse away in his pocket. Justice was simmering with righteous indignation, that someone would so take advantage of people and put them at risk. “This is a _public health hazard_. If you two don’t want to help, I can figure it out alone.”

“I wouldn’t miss this for the world.” Isabela grinned and folded her arms. “Watching you stick it to some poor sod, pound him with logic, finish him utterly…so satisfying!”

Anders sighed. “You’re going to do this the whole time, aren’t you.”

She did.

Hawke, in a show of support after Anders’ rescue the previous night, brought out the whole crew to assist. It seemed, when they assembled at the Hawke estate, that Hawke had brought everyone up to speed on the issue by the time Anders arrived.

“Look,” he said, doggedly ignoring Merrill’s giggling, “we’re looking for Jorman’s Apothecary, or some such. I’ve never heard of them, so—”

“Having fun with your staff this morning?” Varric asked cheerfully.

Anders considered hitting him over the head with it. “When you’ve seen forty cocks in twenty-four hours,” he said icily, “you rather lose your enjoyment of sex jokes.”

“I don’t know,” Isabela said thoughtfully, “that’s got something to recommend it.”

“This is a _serious medical condition_!”

“I’m sure it is,” Fenris drawled, utterly straight-faced. “It must take a great deal of manhood to deal with such a thing.”

“I am going to kill all of you.”

Aveline cleared her throat. “I would also like to see this resolved. At least one of my guardsmen was taken in by this scam.” She paused. A smirk cracked her stern expression. “I have rarely seen a man so obsessed with his sword.”

Anders considered moving back to Ferelden.

On the other hand, the jokes about towers and compensation wrote themselves.

They split up. Hawke and Aveline went up into Hightown while Varric and Isabela went to Lowtown. Merrill volunteered to take Anders to the alienage, and then to accompany him to Darktown.

“ _I_ am going with the mages,” Fenris said, when Hawke asked.

“You just want to make fun of me,” Anders said, pointing at him as the other groups went their own ways.

Fenris gave him a sunny smile. “My motives are entirely pure.”

“You should try this ‘Special Sauce’ yourself,” Anders said, striding off after Merrill toward the alienage. “Then we’d all see if that sword is compensating for something.”

“I assure you, it is not,” Fenris said.

Merrill, as usual, roundly ignored them both.

Anders stood out like a sore thumb in the alienage and, had he been alone, he would have beat a hasty retreat. But, bless Merrill, she did the talking and disarmed the wary elves.

“Have you heard of a new apothecary? Jorman, I think it was, but I don’t know for sure,” she said, waving a hand. “I’m looking for…for…um…”

“Cream,” Fenris said, deadpan.

A beat of perfect silence.

“The main ingredient,” he added.

“Right, a potion for nerves,” Anders chimed in, keeping his voice carefully chipper. “Very calming, you know.”

“Or exciting,” Merrill chirped.

The man Merrill had accosted looked around nervously at the odd little party. “No,” he said. “I haven’t heard of any new apothecaries. Certainly not near the alienage. If you’ll pardon me…”

And off he went.

“Discouraging,” Anders said.

“I think he’s heard more than he’s telling,” Merrill said, putting her hands on her hips. “The gossip here is awful—worse than my clan. But I don’t think he’d say anything to a shem.”

Anders sighed. “You know, that’s fair.”

“Time for us to penetrate Darktown, then?” Fenris asked.

“I hate you,” Anders said.

Merrill patted him on the back. “You’re doing your best,” she said, comforting, though her big green eyes danced with impending mischief. “Lead the way! With that big staff of yours, we’ll never lose you in the crowd.”

“I _also_ hate you,” Anders said with a weary sigh.

Once in Darktown, they stopped at the clinic, just to check in, only to find that Anders had at least ten patients waiting. Most held something strategically in front of themselves, with what they clearly thought was subtlety.

Merrill looked around, wide-eyed. “This really is an epidemic!”

“Every lover in Kirkwall will be satisfied before the week is out,” Fenris said.

Anders sighed, reaching up for the lantern. “I’m sorry, but I’m going to have to deal with this.”

“Yeah!” a dwarf shouted. He barged up through the crowd, making no effort whatsoever to hide his erection. “You kept us waiting long enough!”

“Get back in line!” a young man shouted above angry muttering from the rest of the afflicted people. “I’ve been here longer!”

The dwarf scowled at Anders. “This is your fault.”

“I am doing everything in my power to fix it,” Anders said, trying to assume his talking-to-angry-mothers voice. It didn’t work.

With a fair amount of violence, the dwarf pointed at his crotch. “Work faster!”

“I didn’t give you whatever ‘Special Sauce’ you decided to take,” Anders said, and paused. “Wait, was it taken by mouth or applied to the skin?”

“Doesn’t matter!” the dwarf roared. He swung a fist, but in a flash of blue Fenris was between the dwarf and Anders.

“That,” Fenris said, holding the dwarf’s wrist in his hand, “is enough of that. Let your Healer do his work and then be on your way.”

That rather cowed the crowd, and in short order Anders had them on their way, with collective stern orders _not_ to take quack remedies. “If you need _help_ ,” he said over and over, “try getting creative in bed before you use something like this.”

When the door shut behind the last patient, Anders turned to Fenris and Merrill. “Do you _see_ the issue here?” he demanded.

“Did you _genuinely_ tell those people that the remedy for a malfunctioning member is merely to be better at dancing the cushion dance?” Fenris asked.

“That’s not the issue! Also, what Blighted kind of thing is _dancing the cushion dance_?”

“An expression for genteel ladies in Tevinter,” Fenris said. He shrugged, a smile pulling at his mouth. “I thought you’d appreciate it.”

Merrill, sitting cross-legged on a cot, did smile. “We called it groping for trout in a peculiar river,” she said, “when we wanted to be delicate around the children.”

Anders rubbed his temples. A headache was coming on. Justice, cackling about these delightful idioms, was no help at all. “We’re going to have to be more creative to find this _Jorman_ ,” he said.

“Then let us reconvene with Hawke and take a stroke at the problem,” Fenris said, already heading for the door.

“You are not invited!” Anders shouted after him.

No one else had any luck.

“Flyers everywhere, even in Hightown,” Aveline said, dropping them on the Hawke kitchen table. “I can only hope that word will get out that this is a scam, and people will give up on their own.”

“Men with no ink in their pen will do many things to fill it up again,” Varric said wisely, “which is why I’m always careful with my quill.”

“I wonder if there’s another way,” Isabela said thoughtfully. “Instead of ramming ourselves into the problem over and over, we can take the back door.”

Merrill smiled brightly. “Why don’t we have one of the boys pretend he needs a remedy?”

Anders, Fenris, Hawke, and Varric exchanged weighty, meaningful looks. Silent solidarity. None of them would do it, not this risky, indelicate, mission. It was unnecessary. They’d be clever and creative, finding some other solution to this issue.

When they set out to look for Jorman again the next day, it was Varric who drew the short straw on needing the remedy.

Anders, Isabela, and Hawke shadowed him at a safe distance as Varric, looking appropriately furtive, entered the Blooming Rose by the side door, the one reserved for patrons escaping from indiscreet encounters. They waited in an out-of-the-way corner until Varric reappeared. He made straight for them.

“For a bunch of rogues and apostates on the run, you’re not very subtle,” he said.

“Which is why we brought you,” Hawke said. “What did you find out?”

Varric shrugged. “They say he’s up in Hightown. Selling to the rich and famous. Near _your_ estate, Hawke. I guess I shouldn’t be surprised, though.”

“In my defense, I bought it from a street vendor.”

“Details, Chuckles.”

“Let’s be off, then,” Anders said briskly. “In and out, that’s us.” He turned and started up the street, the others following behind.

“Just in and out? You’ll leave the whole of Hightown unsatisfied,” Isabela said.

“Just _seeing_ that staff could give anyone the vapors,” Hawke said.

Varric laughed. “The mage in Kirkwall best suited to doing the deed of darkness. Don’t tell the Templars, eh?”

Anders pretended he couldn’t hear a damned one of them.

They let Hawke, Fenris, and Aveline, more at home in Hightown, investigate the matter. Isabela tagged along, because—in her own words—she had the best understanding of the criminal mind. The other three cooled their heels in Hawke’s mansion. Varric wrote on a stack of Leandra’s scrap paper. Merrill sat cross-legged on the sofa and knitted on thin wooden needles. Anders brooded, sitting on the floor and staring at the fire.

“Why would anyone want to do this? It seems counterproductive, having to visit a physician instead of fooling around in bed,” he said idly.

“Oh, sometimes people are very hard to satisfy,” Merrill said.

When Anders glanced at her, she wasn’t looking up from her knitting, but her cheeks were pink. “You have…experience with this?”

“A little,” Merrill said. Her needles clicked faster.

“What, our Daisy with a suitor?” Varric asked, grinning. “And what happened to _you_?”

“Anders will yell at me if I tell,” Merrill said, glancing up at him.

It took a moment to process that.

“Did you _really_ use blood magic on someone’s cock?”

“He was very eager!” Merrill defended herself, red to the tips of her ears. “But so nervous, poor dear, even more than _me_. He even _asked_ me if I would. We had a very lovely time until we were both satisfied and then, well…it wouldn’t go _away_.”

Anders stared at Merrill. “I should scold you for the blood magic, but I think I’m just impressed,” he said. “You could’ve taken his cock right off.”

“It was delicate work,” Merrill said. She winced. “I couldn’t undo the enchantment, though, we had to wait for it to go down naturally…”

“Daisy, you’re a hero,” Varric declared.

Merrill covered her face with her knitting.

Just then, Hawke burst in the door. “We got him!” he said.

Anders leapt to his feet. “You did!?”

“Well—not _here_ with us,” Hawke amended. “Aveline and Fenris are watching the door. They made it look like a regular general store, but—”

“Wasting time!” Anders said, pushing past Hawke out the door.

All in all, considering the effort it took to find him, convincing Jorman the Apothecary to stop selling the “Special Sauce” took relatively little effort. Anders managed to keep Justice from putting on a real light show, but apparently the “healer voice” and looming over the man was plenty. In no uncertain terms, Anders informed Jorman that if he ever caught wind of such quackery in Kirkwall again, he’d be sure to give the man a taste of his own medicine.

“I must say, that was impressive,” Aveline said, when the party was back out on the street. “Very socially responsible of you, Anders.”

“He was just tired of carpentry,” Fenris said. “Handling so much wood must be unpleasant.”

Merrill laughed. “I think Anders was very polite.”

Isabela shrugged. “Eh. I expected more of a dick-measuring contest. Though I know for sure poor Jorman would have lost, so.”

Anders made a strangled sound.

Justice, if he’d had a mouth, would have roared with laughter.

Varric looked between them, smirking. “Isabela, for all of our enlightenment, would you consider telling us just what that means?”

She laughed, blowing Anders a kiss. “Anders has a _lot_ more going for him in bed than the electricity trick.”

Hawke gave Anders a long, speculative look. So did virtually everyone else, save for Aveline, who just put her face in her hands. Anders felt his face heating up. “What?”

“Do you like being taken to dinner first?” Merrill piped up. “It would be awfully nice. I’ve never done it but it seems like such a nice custom!”

“Don’t bother with niceties,” Fenris said, eyeing Anders. “Anders certainly does not have time for _dating_ , not while he has his…revolution…to carry on. I elect to expedite the process.”

“At _any other time_ , I’d play this game,” Anders said, pinching the bridge of his nose, “but I’ve spent a week staring at half the cocks in Kirkwall and I am _done_ —”

“Blondie, I think you’d better get that staff of yours ready,” Varric said, grinning, “and maybe try some of that ‘Special Sauce’ yourself.”


End file.
